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Marquis skimmed his ledger and smiled. Sales for his rubber-soled canvas shoes were on the rise. Mentally, he patted himself on the back. No one would have to slip on wet stairs and injure themselves as he had.
His secretary entered. “There’s a young man here to see you, sir. Says it’s a matter of great importance. He looks like a kid.”
“Send him in.”
A tall lanky youth hobbled toward the desk. Marquis rose and offered his hand. “What can I do for you, Mr.—”
“Taylor. Chuck Taylor. Please, Mr. Converse, could you design a comfortable basketball shoe?”